Yeonggang Mountain Stronghold (2)
Guided by the beggar the Hanzhong branch leader had assigned them, Cheonhwa’s party pressed on along the mountain path said to lead to the Yeonggang Bandit Stronghold.
“We’re near.”
At the words of Jo Man-gu—a Beggars’ Sect disciple who wore a single knot—the group halted.
Cheonhwa closed his eyes and sharpened his senses through the Six Harmony Sensory Path.
Maximize my hearing so I can catch presence at a distance.
Having fully mastered the Vast Heaven Qi Art, he had gained the ability to observe his own body with absolute clarity; that mastery opened a new way to wield the Six Harmony Sensory Path. He simply shut down every sense he did not need and pushed a single sense to its extreme.
Vision and smell vanished. Hearing alone roared to life.
Every sound in the surrounding hills poured in: grass blades whispering under the wind, the thin drone of insects, the distant rush of a river, and—clearer than all the rest—the tread of men pushing through the mountain trail toward them.
“Someone’s coming. Ten of them. Their steps say they’re used to these paths. And that metallic clatter—they’re almost certainly armed.”
“You can hear all that?”
Jo Man-gu asked, startled. His own senses were sharp for a Beggars’ Sect man, yet picking out details so fine from so far away was nearly impossible. He half-doubted the claim—until, moments later, he himself felt the approaching presence and knew Cheonhwa had been right.
To read them that clearly at such a range… I’ve heard he’s the chief among the third-generation disciples of Huazibei, but what kind of training produces something like this?
While Jo Man-gu marveled, the party prepared for whatever might come. Myeonghwa loosened the Hyeonhwang Sword from his back so he could draw in a single motion. Yeobhwa pulled on the hand wraps he kept at his waist. Cheonhwa restored his senses to normal, drew Okgyeong, and fixed his eyes on the trail.
Ten men broke through the undergrowth.
Their hair was a wild tangle half-hidden by crude cloths and headbands; the raw leather they wore still reeked of untanned hide. Broadswords, axes, and iron maces filled their hands. The crooked smiles at the corners of their mouths announced that they had not come with friendly intent.
“You young masters look lost. First time in these parts, eh? There’s a toll to pay if you want to pass.”
“You’re outlaws of the Yeonggang Stronghold?”
“Oh, so you know us. Then you already know what to do.”
The lead bandit spoke with heavy meaning; the others chuckled and closed in, pressing the air with sheer numbers. They clearly had no idea the three belonged to Zhongnan. The sect did not embroider its robes like Huashan or Wudang, and the only longsword among them was Myeonghwa’s—so the mistake was understandable.
Cheonhwa quietly took their measure through his qi sense.
Only one first-class martial artist. The rest are all second-class.
Raw, unrefined pressure rolled off them; none seemed to be concealing their strength.
They barge in without even testing us? What are they thinking?
Even with their auras carefully restrained, the bandits paid no attention at all.
Can they simply not read an opponent’s skill through qi?
Nothing else explained such reckless arrogance.
The Six Harmony Sensory Path shows no ambush party nearby.
They outnumbered Cheonhwa’s group, yet the trail was narrow; five men abreast was the most it would allow. Cheonhwa exchanged a glance with his companions.
Subdue them here and pry out the stronghold’s location.
Myeonghwa and Yeobhwa nodded.
“Stop stalling and hand over everything you’ve got!”
The bandit’s patience snapped. Instantly the three disciples shifted into combat stances. Cheonhwa launched a sudden cut with Okgyeong at the first-class fighter; Yeobhwa and Myeonghwa surged after him against the rest. Jo Man-gu, wooden staff in hand, stepped back—exactly as they had agreed beforehand. He was second-class, enough to protect himself, but not enough to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Zhongnan’s third-generation elite. An uncoordinated ally in a fight could become a liability; better he secure their line of retreat.
“Kuh—you bastards! Talking nicely won’t work. Boys—kill them!”
“Three against ten? They’re out of their minds!”
“We’ll beat them into paste!”
The first-class bandit staggered under Cheonhwa’s surprise strike yet stayed on his feet. At his order the others charged. Myeonghwa and Yeobhwa plunged straight into their midst, forcing the fight into a chaotic melee.
“What good are bare fists against—gah?!”
“Aaagh! Are you crazy? Why hit me?!”
“He just redirected that attack!”
“These bastards look soft, but they’re monsters!”
Yeobhwa’s fists exploded with the heavy crack of Jin Release. Myeonghwa’s soft sword turned every blow aside and sent it crashing into another bandit. The chaos deepened by the second until three men were driving ten.
Meanwhile Cheonhwa met the first-class fighter’s broadsword and thought:
I meant to drop him in one hit, but he’s tougher than expected.
The feel was not protective qi arts; the man had tempered his body through outer martial arts. Given the thick frame and the cords of muscle showing through the gaps in his clothes, it made sense.
His outer arts give him serious raw power—but that’s all he has. Nothing special beyond it.
Cheonhwa parried several more cuts, measuring the man completely. To swagger with only this much skill… He decided to end it at once. Vast Heaven Qi and Balanced Heaven Qi layered together into a heavy-sword strike. Qi-charged energy shimmered along Okgyeong’s blade; the pressure became a razor wind that lifted the wooden sword’s speed still higher.
A sword stroke like a killing gale tore toward the bandit.
He thrust the broadsword forward to block—an obvious mistake.
CRACK!
Metal shrieked and shattered. Fragments of the blade spun into the sky. Okgyeong’s overwhelming force had simply pulverized the weapon.
“Wh-what—how can a qi-charged broadsword—?!”
Shock froze the bandit for a heartbeat. Cheonhwa did not waste it; he drove a fist into the man’s jaw and dropped him cold.
If he’d known how to use a weapon properly he might have bled off some of the impact. But he trusted only brute strength and the principle of hardness—so he broke before he could react.
By the time Cheonhwa finished the first-class fighter, Yeobhwa and Myeonghwa had already subdued the rest. Three bandits died in the process. The survivors, crushed by the gulf in skill, surrendered at once.
“They had the numbers, yet no proper formation—their coordination was nonexistent.”
“Compared to real assassins working in tandem, they were a rabble.”
Neither Yeobhwa nor Myeonghwa bore a single scratch; they even had breath left to remark that the bandits had been weaker than expected.
“Now we need to question them for the stronghold’s location…”
Jo Man-gu stepped forward.
“Not formal interrogation, but I know a method that works just as well.”
He whispered something into Myeonghwa’s ear—the best talker among the three. Myeonghwa’s face lit with approval and he nodded.
While they conferred, Yeobhwa and Cheonhwa kept watch.
“What should we do?”
“Just keep them quiet. Watch for reinforcements as well.”
“Seven left—we can’t let any of them try something stupid.”
A single escapee racing back to the stronghold would complicate everything.
First priority: learn the stronghold’s exact site and numbers.
Myeonghwa and Jo Man-gu returned. Myeonghwa walked straight up to the bound bandits.
“Do you know who we are?”
“…”
“Silence means you don’t. Have you ever heard of the great Zhongnan Sect?”
“Z-Zhongnan? The major sect of Shaanxi—don’t tell me…?!”
“Good—you’re not completely deaf to rumor. The three of us are its third-generation disciples.”
“Hiiik! Third-generation?!”
“The monsters who cut down assassins from the cradle?!”
Color drained from every bandit face. Even outlaws skulking in a back corner of Shaanxi had heard of the third-generation disciples who had stopped the Dark Night Assassin Pavilion’s attack. The tales had swollen and twisted in the telling, but the fear was real.
Just how wild have the stories become to get that reaction?
Cheonhwa’s mind spun for a moment; he decided to take it as a gift. At least the name of Zhongnan and its third-generation disciples already carried weight.
“We came to the Yeonggang Stronghold because word reached us that you touched one of our secular families.”
“A s-secular family?”
“Yes. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Cheongun Merchant Group.”
Several pairs of pupils shook as if struck by earthquake. Recognition flashed across their faces.
“You know as well as we do—once a secular family is harmed, Zhongnan cannot simply watch. And if it was open plunder, even less so.”
Myeonghwa never stated the charge outright; he only tightened the noose, inch by inch. If they had laid hands on Zhongnan’s secular kin, they would not leave this mountain alive. While the pressure mounted, Jo Man-gu cut in as if to restrain him.
“Ai-go, Daoist Myeonghwa. What would these fellows know? They only do what they’re told. They probably don’t even understand what crime they’ve committed.”
“But if we let them go free, Zhongnan’s honor is stained.”
“True enough—yet if they confess of their own free will, we might reconsider, no?”
With exaggerated gestures Jo Man-gu soothed Myeonghwa while shooting the bandits a sharp glance: beg for mercy and spill everything you know, or you die here.
Myeonghwa Senior Brother presses; Jo Man-gu Senior pretends to hold him back and opens a crack for the information we want. Clever, for something thrown together so quickly.
The bandits had no leisure to notice the ploy. With their necks already on the chopping block, clear thought was impossible.
“I-I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything I know—just spare me!”
“No—I know more!”
The pressure shattered them into a noisy scramble. Myeonghwa looked down and poured internal energy into a single word.
“Silence.”
The clamor died at once.
“Speak one at a time. Lie to me, and that man’s head will leave his shoulders.”
For an instant pure rage rode the words. Even Cheonhwa and Yeobhwa, watching from behind, felt it clearly. The bandits’ earlier reaction had confirmed they knew something of Myeonghwa’s father; the knowledge had drawn his nerves razor-tight.
So the bandits began to talk—starting with petty names of those still in the stronghold and moving on to the full state of Yeonggang. The stronghold held fifty men and four first-class martial artists—far larger and better trained than expected for a band that had been active less than half a year. Two pieces of luck stood out: half the force was currently away, and Jang Son-pyeong, head of the Cheongun Merchant Group, was confirmed a captive inside.
“Th-there, that’s everything! We’ve told you all we know—please, spare us!”
“What do you think, Junior Brother?”
Myeonghwa turned the question to Cheonhwa, the group’s leader, asking how the bandits should be handled. Cheonhwa looked at the prisoners.
“Among you, is there anyone who ever spared a person who begged for their life during a raid?”
The bandits froze for a heartbeat, then all began talking at once.
“There is! Of course there is!”
“I even remember the name—I can tell you exactly who, and when!”
They babbled desperately to live. Cheonhwa sharpened the Six Harmony Sensory Path and watched every reaction with merciless precision. One by one he read them, and reached a single conclusion.
Every last one of them is lying.
Their bodies had spoken truth when they revealed the stronghold’s secrets; now eyes flickered, muscles locked, hearts hammered, cold sweat sprang out unbidden.
I thought at least a few might answer honestly. Not one of them did.
That settled it. No decent human being stood among them—only beasts wearing human skin who plundered for their own greed. And for beasts that preyed on people, only one fate remained.
Cheonhwa’s grip tightened on Okgyeong’s hilt. Vast Heaven Qi soaked into the wooden blade; the Qi-Charged Sword of Heaven and Earth manifested. Pressure coiled around the edge, then Stored Jin flowed over it, honing a razor edge. The fine control of internal energy and force made possible by true body observation had created the technique.
Okgyeong’s arc flashed. Bandit heads left their shoulders.
And so the mountain outlaws who murdered even those who paid the toll the moment they looked easy—taking lives and goods alike—became ghosts who would never return.